


Election Night: A Public Participation Ficlet

by angharabbit



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canada AU, Canadian Politics, Drabble, Election Night, F/M, Ficlet, Inappropriate Use of Election Signs, Reylo - Freeform, Surprisingly Innocent, no pumpkins were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angharabbit/pseuds/angharabbit
Summary: I just couldn’t fit this into Public Participation, and as we approach Canada’s federal election on Oct 21st, it’s been burning a hole in my abandoned wip file. It was written for the 2017 Ontario provincial election, which was a baffling clusterfudge of an election.





	Election Night: A Public Participation Ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> Go read Saint_Heretical’s lovely Canadian politics au “Bury My Soul On Parliament Hill”, which finally made me want to post this bit of fluff.

"And drink," Poe instructed, watching the election night result counter flip another riding from blue to orange.

Finn, Rose, and Rey all dutifully followed his lead, taking mouthfuls of their beers.

"Remind me of the rules again?" Ben asked, opening his first drink and settling on the couch. The other three sat on the orange shag carpet of Poe's basement apartment, currently vacant and ideal for a gathering, crowded around a sticky Ticket To Ride game board and an old tv.

"I can't finish my route, POE, so I'm turning agent of chaos and my only rule is to balls up everyone else's plan," Rose explained, placing a green train piece to cap off the long red route Poe had been building.

"Drinking game rules," Poe said, frowning at the game board, "are as follows: take a sip for every blue seat won, a drink for every orange seat won, forget the reds, they're toast, and if green gets their seat we chug. Also sip whenever the broadcaster makes a basic geography mistake, butchers a candidate's name, or laughs awkwardly at their own joke."

"I miss Peter Mansbridge," Rey sighed, taking an extracurricular sip from her bottle of local blonde microbrew.

"He's not dead too, is he?" Ben said quickly, concerned.

"No," Rey laughed, "just retired. Sorry to scare you." She looked at the confused faces. "Ben recently learned about Gord Downie."

They all made pained ah and consolatory noises, and began an abstract of Hip songs that had played at key events in their lives.

"And that's how I lost my virginity, while Wheat Kings was playing," Finn finished. 

“Listen, it just happened to come up in the shuffle,” Rose countered, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t intend for it to be your own Sexual Heritage Moment.”

***

"Did we win?" Rey asked blearily, her arms crossed over her face 

"If you call an upset conservative majority, way too much alcohol, an ill-advised plan to get poutine, a mini Bob Ross marathon, and you explaining the key plot points to Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers"."

"That must have been annoying."

"You wouldn't take 'Rey, we've all read it already' for an answer."

"Did I get poutine?"

"You did."

"Awesome. Did I eat it?"

"Temporarily."

"Eugh."

"Yeah, you threw it up on the bronze plaque in front of the Summerset Building, pointing out typos."

“All sounds on brand,” she nodded.

“Will you take me home?” 

“Rey, love,” Ben said slowly, “we are home.”

Rey looked out her bedroom window.

“Where’s our lawn sign?”

”Stuck into a stolen pumpkin, floating down the river.”

“Is that a metaphor? I’m too hungover for metaphors.”

“Rey, you stole the neighbour’s jack o’lantern. You stuck the metal poles into it, and dropped it into the Thames, cursing the candidate the whole time. Who won our riding, by the way.”

“It actually floated?”

“No, not really. Sank to the bottom immediately. You were so angry I carried you home on my shoulder to keep you jumping the rail to fix it, as you called it.”

“... sorry...” Rey said in a small voice.

Leaning over, Ben kissed her on the forehead.

“Best election night ever.”

There was a knock at the door, and he sauntered out, leaving Rey sprawled in their bed. Stomach growing, Rey was an awkward blend of hunger and nausea.

“Hey Ben,” she called.

“Yeah?”

“Can we go for poutine later?”

The scent entered the room before his answer, hot greasy fries and thick savoury brown gravy over pale melting curds.

Outside a delivery car pulled out of their driveway.

“Feel free to tell me that you love me,” Ben said smugly.

She plucked the paper box out of his hand and settled back into bed. 

“I love you,” Rey whispered to the poutine.

Ben rolled his eyes with resignation.

“I know.”

”Ben?”

”Mmm?”

”Why the hell am I wearing an enormous elect Doug Ford t-shirt?”

”Okay, now that’s a long story.”


End file.
